We sat on the shore and watched the scene for a time, saying nothing. Now and again, as from scaffolding to scaffolding, from boat to boat, and from house to house, the Chinook song rang and was caught up in a slow monotone, so not interfering with the toil, there came the sound of an Indian drum beaten indolently, or the rattle of dry hard sticks--a fantastic accompaniment. "Does it remind you of the South Seas?" I asked Mrs. Falchion, as, with her chin on her hand, she watched the scene. She drew herself up, almost with an effort, as though she had been lost in thought, and looked at me curiously for a moment. She seemed trying to call back her mind to consider my question. Presently she answered me: "Very little. There is something finer, stronger here. The atmosphere has more nerve, the life more life. This is not a land for the idle or vicious, pleasant as it is." "What a thinker you are, Mrs. Falchion!" She seemed to recollect herself suddenly. Her voice took on an inflection of satire. "You say it with the air of a discoverer. With Columbus and Hervey and you, the world--" She stopped, laughing softly at the thrust, and moved the dust about with her foot. "In spite of the sarcasm, I am going to add that I feel a personal satisfaction in your being a woman who does think, and acts more on thought than impulse." "'Personal satisfaction' sounds very royal and august. It is long, I imagine, since you took a--personal satisfaction--in me." I was not to be daunted. "People who think a good deal and live a fresh, outdoor life--you do that--naturally act most fairly and wisely in time of difficulty--and contretemps." "But I had the impression that you thought I acted unfairly and unwisely --at such times." We had come exactly where I wanted. In our minds we were both looking at those miserable scenes on the 'Fulvia', when Madras sought to adjust the accounts of life and sorely muddled them. "But," said I, "you are not the same woman that you were." "Indeed, Sir Oracle," she answered: "and by what necromancy do you know?" "By none. I think you are sorry now--I hope you are--for what--" She interrupted me indignantly. "You go too far. You are almost-- unbearable. You said once that the matter should be buried, and yet here you work for an opportunity, Heaven knows why, to place me at a disadvantage!" "Pardon me," I answered; "I said that I would never bring up those wretched scenes unless there was cause. There is cause." She got to her feet. "What cause--what possible cause can there be?" I met her eye firmly. "I am bound to stand by my friend," I said. "I can and I will stand by him." "If it is a game of drawn swords, beware!" she retorted. "You speak to me as if I were a common adventuress. You mistake me, and forget that you--of all men--have little margin of high morality on which to speculate."